Achilles

by Greg Boose

  Dr. Z stands and exhales. “Look, don’t be hard on yourself right now. Come on. Not right now. First of all, you’re pretty damn injured, Jonah, and secondly, what you and I just lived through was an extremely, extremely traumatic experience. You’re in shock, just like everyone else.”

  Jonah sits up again and looks at Vespa. “Not like everyone.”

  “I need you to listen to me for a second. And then I have to go help some other people. Jonah, I think there’s something going on with your eyes, something bad. I need to run some tests, if I have the time and can find some working equipment. But, look, if you want to help, if you honestly feel up to it, then we all could use you. Especially your height.”

  Dr. Z extends her small hand, and Jonah grabs it, pulling himself to his feet. “Thanks.”

  “There are some kids still trapped in a piece of Module Three, I know that. A few people are trying to help them out, but maybe your long arms could be of some use. Don’t strain yourself too much, though. I gave you a shot, but the numbness of your shoulders won’t last long.”

  He takes a deep breath. “Where is it? Module Three?”

  She points to the top half of a module up the plain, beyond the main wreckage. A bright white vapor billows out of its base. Jonah squints to see two men, including Garrett, circling it while a shirtless cadet with a shaved head points up at a small girl sitting on top of it. The cadet climbs onto Garrett’s shoulders and reaches for the girl, but he’s still several feet shy of touching her hand. Another girl sits behind her, rocking back and forth. The white vapor grows thicker, hiding them from Jonah’s view.

  Jonah thinks of Vespa and how easily she was able to change direction and find new strength, and he steels his jaw. Then he runs as fast as his bruised legs and bare feet allow. The difference in gravity is instantly noticeable, and to his surprise, he begins to cover seven to eight feet with every stride. It’s almost like he’s hovering over the ground.

  He circles around the edge of the wreckage, jumping high over items discharged from the ship: a computer console, an exercise bicycle, and a stand-alone shower. He gains speed and jumps higher, farther, blowing past a huddled group of demics crying under a porcupine tree. The module piece up ahead is almost completely invisible inside a cloud of white smoke. If there’s anyone inside, they don’t have long.

  “Maybe I can reach her,” Jonah wheezes as he comes to a stop. His lungs are still adjusting to the atmosphere.

  A gust of wind blows in the opposite direction, taking the white cloud with it. Everyone turns to face Jonah, and the boy on Garrett’s shoulders slides to the ground. It’s Paul Sigg, the highest-ranking Fourth Year on board the ship. He’s solid with muscle and sweating profusely, and there’s a deep yellow and purple bruise running from his armpit all the way down to his waist. Jonah doesn’t know what the boy hit, or what hit the boy, but it’s a wonder he’s able to stand up. A jagged scar pulses with fresh blood around his neck.

  “Just get out of here, Firstie, we got it. Go collect the dead or something. Find some medical supplies.”

  Jonah takes a step back and looks over his shoulder, unable to hide his disappointment. He’s supposed to follow orders from higher-ranking cadets, but does that apply here? He stares at the two girls on the top of the module who are trembling with fear. One of the girls screams as her head lowers a few inches and then stops. The top of the module is collapsing. There isn’t time to follow orders.

  “Garrett,” Jonah says, stepping forward. “Let me up.”

  Paul growls and puts a palm on Jonah’s chest, but Jonah avoids his eyes and pushes past him. Garrett crouches, and the other man, a bearded engineer with a gaping gash on his leg, helps push him onto Garrett’s shoulders. Jonah stretches his long dark arms over his head toward the first girl, doing his best to ignore the pain crossing his back.

  “Come on!” Jonah yells. “Jump!”

  From below, Paul shouts, “No, you asshole! They need to pull you up! Up! Someone has to go inside and help get the demics out of there!”

  Shocked, Jonah looks down at Garrett’s upturned face. The man nods.

  “There are four girls inside,” the first girl says. She has the pointed face of a bird. “They can’t get their belts off. They can’t get out of their seats. Hurry. Please.”

  Jonah swallows hard and then looks down at Garrett and says, “I need you to jump, and then I’ll jump, too.” Without hesitation, Garrett squats and then springs up. Jonah’s feet push off the man’s shoulders and he sails upward as if launched by a trampoline, traveling far past the edge of the module. He peaks at thirty feet and then begins to descend.

  “What…the…hell?” Paul drones.

  Jonah circles his arms wildly at his sides as he awkwardly lands on top of the module. He slips and falls and then rolls past the birdlike girl, toward the middle where it’s flimsy and collapsing. He finds a jagged hole just big enough for the small girls to fit through, but there’s no way Jonah will be able to get inside this way. He needs to find another way in, or make the hole bigger.

  Below, Paul yells for the girls to jump, and over they go. Jonah scrambles to the edge to see the demics hugging each other.

  “I need something hard!” Jonah shouts. “I need to break away some of this metal if I’m going to get inside!”

  Paul finds a black stone the size of a fist. He tosses it up to Jonah, but it sails far over his arms. The Fourth Year quickly finds another rock, this time underhanding it gently. Jonah catches it and moves back to the hole. For the first time, he hears a girl crying inside. Jonah holds the black rock high above his head and slams it down on the jagged edge of the hole. It shatters in his hand as a plume of white smoke envelops him.

  “Shit,” he whispers. The center of the module then creaks and sinks several more inches. The girls inside scream and cry, and Jonah’s about yell for another rock when he notices the bleeding gash on his palm. The rock cut him. He fans away the smoke and looks over the pieces scattered around his knees until he finds a particularly long shard, with a sharp, almost serrated edge. It’s a perfect blade. He places the shard against the edge of the hole and tries sawing at the metal. Sparks fly, and to his surprise, the metal peels away. Within twenty seconds, he carves away three or more feet, and then he sticks the rock blade into the waistband of his pants and lowers himself inside.

  It takes a moment for Jonah’s feet to find something stable for his 6'5" frame, and when he does, he lets go of the smooth lip of the hole. His head passes through two thin layers of metal before entering the sleeping level, where four girls hang upside down in their seats. He thinks of Manny and panics, his chest heaving with doubt. Far down below, five or more girls lie in a motionless pile, their limbs tangled and broken.

  Only three of the four girls strapped into their seats are awake. When they see Jonah crouching on a cabinet, they all start talking at once until the oldest, a redhead with a constellation of freckles blasted onto her face, raises her voice to say, “Our belts won’t come off. The mechanism is broken, and I’d say at the rate the vapor is seeping in, we have about four or five minutes before we suffocate.”

  “We’ll die just like them,” a tall brunette cries, pointing to the bodies below. “They’re dead. Look at them. They’re dead and we’re going to die, too. You’ll die, too, now.”

  “Rosa, just shut up,” says the girl closest to Jonah. She’s small, and her skin is darker than his. Her giant brown eyes brim with tears. “I can’t move my one leg. It’s stuck.”

  Her left foot is pinned against the backrest of another seat knocked from its base. Jonah shuffles to the edge of the cabinet, and to his relief, it doesn’t fall. He hangs his right leg over and then bends his knee.

  “Okay. Try to keep your ankle loose,” he says, studying the angles of the backrest. And then, with held breath, he thrusts his heel at the seat pinning the girl’s foot. The seat goes spiraling down and lands on the bodies below. “Now,” he says, showing her the rock blade, “I nee
d you to hold on to me with one hand and cut away your belts with the other hand. You’re going to fall, but I’m going to swing you over to me, okay?”

  She reluctantly takes the blade.

  “No, no, no! Help me first,” Rosa interjects. Tears and sweat soak her face. “Please. I can’t take another second. I’m going to freak out. I swear. I’m about to die. I can feel it!”

  “You’re next,” Jonah says. “I promise. But she’s first.”

  “I’m going to die!” Rosa screams. “Don’t you hear me?”

  Jonah clasps the small girl’s hand as she saws at the belts. Her body starts to slide away from the seat, and when she slices through the last belt above her left shoulder, she falls. Jonah sees Manny’s face as he plants his feet and digs his fingernails into her wrist. She swings in a perfect half-circle, and the moment she’s below Jonah, he yanks her upward. She grabs his knee with her other hand, and a moment later, she’s lying facedown on the cabinet.

  “Thank you, oh my god, thank you,” she says.

  “You’re welcome.” He shoves the small girl through the hole in the ceiling, but not before retrieving the blade.

  “My turn, right? It’s my turn,” Rosa says. “You said it was my turn.”

  “Yeah, it’s your turn. Let’s go.” He takes a quick second to gauge his options. She’s fifteen feet away. The only things to hang on to are the other seats, and to get to Rosa, he will have to get past the unconscious girl still belted in.

  The redhead sees Jonah looking at the other girl and says, “She’s dead. She’s been dead for the last two and a half minutes.”

  Rosa begins to sob.

  “Okay,” Jonah says, sighing, refusing to let it sink in. “This is what we’re going to do. Rosa, I’m going to climb over to that other girl and hold on to her belts, and then I’m going to swing over to you and hand you this.” He holds up the blade. “Then you’re going to do exactly what that other girl did. You’re going cut away the belts, and then I’m going to swing you over so you can climb out the hole. Okay?”

  Rosa sniffs and nods. Jonah leans far off the cabinet, whispers to himself that he can do this, and jumps. His right hand catches the belt over the dead girl’s shoulder, and he swoops toward Rosa with the rock out. Rosa reaches and misses the blade, but before she can start crying all over again, Jonah swings back over and slips the rock between her leg and her belt.

  “Just start cutting,” Jonah groans. His shoulder begins to throb from the activity, and he knows he has to hurry if this is going to work. When Rosa saws through three of the four belts, Jonah kicks himself away from the dead girl and grabs Rosa’s hand just as she cuts through the last one.

  They swing together, and as they make their way toward the cabinet, the wound on Jonah’s shoulder rips open and speeds across his upper back like a fault line. His scream echoes inside the module, inside his broken nose. He releases Rosa without knowing where she’ll land. Jonah peeks through his tears to see her fall on top of the cabinet. She sets the blade at her feet, and without looking back, she jumps, grabs a piece of metal, and scrambles up the hole. All Jonah can do is slide his wrist between the dead girl’s body and her belts and watch Rosa’s feet disappear.

  “Are you okay?” the redhead asks. “What can I do? Tell me what I can do.”

  Jonah pulls himself up a foot or two with his other hand, trying not to cry out in pain. Sarcastically, he asks, “Go for help?”

  “I’ll be right back,” she responds in the same tone.

  He aims his mouth at the hole and shouts for Paul and Garrett. Below, the chair he dislodged from the small girl’s foot shifts and rolls over the bodies. A leg moves, and the white vapor comes up stronger than before.

  “That’s not good,” he says.

  “No, it’s not,” the girl says quietly. “I just can’t believe this. I just can’t believe I traveled three hundred eighty days, through a freaking wormhole, basically through time”—she then pauses to cough and hack from the incoming vapors—“and I survived a crash landing, and now here I am about to die upside down from suffocation? That’s bullshit!”

  Jonah opens his mouth to tell her that neither of them is going to die when a pair of long legs descends from the hole. A second later, Vespa Bolivar drops onto the cabinet. Her green eyes flash from the dead girls below to the redhead stuck in her seat, and then to Jonah who hangs helplessly by his wrist. By the alarmed and exhausted look on her face, it appears she’s on her third wind. Every graduating cadet is supposed to be able to reach an almost impossible fifth wind. After that, it’s respectable to rest.

  “I need some help.” Jonah coughs. He’s ashamed to be hanging there like this, caught against a dead girl he couldn’t save. He was supposed to be the hero, to make it up to Manny and the man with the waving blue sleeve, but now he finds himself saying, “I’m stuck, and my shoulder is all messed up. I can’t really move.”

  Vespa turns to the redhead and asks, “Who are you?”

  “Aussie,” she says. “I’m an academic.”

  “No shit you are,” Vespa says, studying the vapor pooling above their heads.

  The ceiling creaks and Vespa springs into action, moving toward Jonah while calmly saying, “Aussie, I’m just going to help this lanky kid first, and then I’m going to get you out of here.” Vespa drops to her stomach and reaches Jonah’s wrist. As she releases him from the dead girl’s belt and swings him directly below her, she says, “People are gathering outside, appointing duties, and some are trying to eat. I think it would be for the best if we all try to get something in our stomachs.” She hoists Jonah onto the cabinet with ease. He can’t believe how calm she seems, or how strong she is. “Night’s falling, and we’re going to need to create some decent shelter. Who knows how cold it gets here.”

  “Thanks,” Jonah says, but Vespa ignores him and turns to Aussie. He hides the burning pain zigzagging across his shoulders and back, and bends down to pick up the rock blade. He holds it out in front of him and is about to offer it to Vespa when she turns, jumps off the cabinet, and catches Aussie’s belts. The girls are quickly face-to-face, nodding at each other.

  “Here, catch,” Jonah says. He tosses the piece of rock to Vespa, but she doesn’t even try to catch it. The blade slowly falls to the floor, twisting and turning until it lands flat on the cheek of one of the dead girls below. Vespa doesn’t even notice; she digs her fingers into Aussie’s belt clasp and pulls, pulls, pulls. The white cloud thickens around them, blocking Jonah’s view.

  “It’s just stuck!” Aussie shouts. “I’ve tried, but the mechanism is—”

  An invisible Vespa grunts, and then there’s a click and someone is overcome by a coughing attack. Jonah waves his arms in front of his face to dissipate the cloud, but it’s too thick. Suddenly Vespa comes into view, sailing toward him with a gagging Aussie on her back.

  “Move, Firstie!” Vespa yells.

  She lands right next to him on the cabinet and immediately shrugs Aussie into Jonah’s open arms. Vespa slips her hands under one of Aussie’s feet and orders Jonah to do the same. Together, they hoist the redhead halfway through the hole. “Now,” Vespa says, coughing, putting her hands on Jonah’s shoulders, shoving him down into a crouch. She sits on his left shoulder and says, “Stand up and I’ll push her the rest of the way through.”

  It’s painful, but Jonah slowly straightens his legs. The vapor has completely taken over the module, and he holds in what little breath he has left. Vespa rocks on his shoulder, and then one of her hands grips the top of his head. Her feet move quickly up his body. And then just like that, she’s gone, and the ceiling bows from her weight. Jonah begins to waver from the fumes. He doesn’t have the strength to pull himself out. He tries not to but starts to sit down.

  Vespa’s voice booms from above: “Jesus, Firstie! Grab my hand already!”

  He stands and extends a palm straight up into the cloud. A hand clasps his forearm. Jonah uses his last breath to jump. His knees hit the lip
of the hole, and then Vespa flings him to the edge of the roof of the module, where he lands flat on his back. The sky, through the blowing white smoke, is a greenish-gray.

  “Come on,” Vespa says, kicking him a little too hard in the side. Her shiny black hair frames her stoic face, and in the setting sun, her cheeks, nose, and lips glow a vibrant white. “Get up!”

  “Cadets!” Paul calls from below. “Let’s go!”

  Vespa jumps over the side. She says something to Paul, and then Paul shouts, “Firstie, we’re walking away in five fucking seconds! With or without your ass!”

  Jonah flips over and crawls past the column of smoke streaming out of the hole. He lowers his head and holds his breath. And as he reaches the edge of the module, he can’t help but think of his parents trying to escape the earthquake that killed them. And he asks himself the same thing he always does: In the chaos of that earthquake, did his dad shove him under that dresser on purpose, or did fate send him rolling to the only safe spot in the bedroom? He swings his legs over the edge of the module, seeing only his dad’s bright white smile from his photo. The roof whines and moans behind him, something shifts just below its surface, and it starts to cave in. Jonah pushes off, Garrett and Paul catch him, and then Vespa herds them all away as the giant half cylinder collapses in on itself, releasing a monstrous white cloud into the air.

  Chapter Four

  Fire from the wreckage rages in all directions, feeding on a sea of brittle grass and weeds that mysteriously sparks and explodes. Two adults and several kids stand in a crooked line, their mouths working on a found box of crystal oranges, their clothes torn and melted and not warm enough. They’re taking a break from searching and collecting and crying and panicking and looking for personal belongings. Jonah cautiously steps into the group as the landscape below burns and spreads its fiery wings. He can’t find his sheaf. He’s looked everywhere.

  A stout, silver-haired man in his fifties shuffles past Jonah in the wildfire light. He falls to his knees and uproots a weed. He uncurls one of its leathery leaves, examining its filleted edges before cracking it in two. A black powder covers his fingers, and he brings the glistening pieces to his nose.